Kiss & Hell (3 page)

Delaney ran a tired hand over her forehead, then yanked out the clip that held her hair up and threw it on the end table. “Like me saying the word
no
has stopped you thus far?”

His chuckle, warm and killa manly, left a slither of a chill riding her spine. “What’s ‘shipping me off to the other side’ mean?”

She ran a hand over each of her dogs’ heads lovingly, reaching into the pocket of her floor-length floral skirt and feeding them each a treat. “Uh, you know, up there.” She pointed a finger to her water-stained ceiling.

“That’s not why I’m here.”

Delaney plopped down on her small couch, sending her pack of dogs scattering to either side of her. Her half Chihuahua, half Poodle—her Poo-Chi, as she’d dubbed him when she’d found him in an alleyway by her favorite Indian restaurant—instantly hopped into her lap, making her grunt while he settled in. She chucked him under the chin.

From the size of him now, no one would ever know he’d once been skeletal and starving, scrounging for food in bags of trash. His stout, barrel-chested body had just recently tipped the scales at almost eighteen pounds. Waaayyy overweight for what was a mix of two
toy
breeds. Way. “Dude, that’s my ovary you’re standing on,” she reprimanded with a grunt, but her face settled into a warm smile.

Each dog dutifully took its place beside her while she kicked off her satin slippers, crossing her legs at her ankles. “Again, let me reiterate. I kinda don’t care why you’re here right now. It’s been a long day, I’m wiped, and I just lost eight hundred much-needed bucks. I have six mouths to feed and you blew their kibble for the week because you couldn’t wait your turn. That means you’ve stolen from the poor and now potentially homeless. Nice, very nice. Proud?”

His voice came from behind her now. Right over her shoulder. “You talk about these mutts as if they’re your children.”

Delaney tilted her head backward, directing her gaze in the direction of his voice somewhere near her window, letting out a gasp-snort. “First of all, watch your tone when it comes to the dogs.” Delaney ruffled her one-eyed Shih Tzu-Pomeranian’s head when he stuck his face pointedly in hers, scratching him just below his fuzzy, multicolored ear. His one eye bobbled at her with that vacant, indirect stare Shih Tzus were famous for. Poor baby had been destined for the Needle of Nevermore, and all because he had only one eye. The shelter’d said he was unadoptable—Delaney’d swept in and called that notion ridiculous, then adopted him and toyed with the idea of secretly calling him Cyclops, or Cy for short.

“My tone? We’re talking mutts here.”

Delaney planted a kiss on his muzzle before responding. “They’re not mutts. Not to me. They’re my babies. Dogs who happened upon some misfortune, but were fortunate enough to find me and my bleeding heart. Second of all, they
are
like my children, bonus being I don’t have to pay for college when they grow up, and they can’t ask to borrow the car. And it’s not like I’m going to have any kids, anyway. You need at least a date for that. And when wet blankets like you show up and rain on my social schedule at all hours of the day and night, demanding my attention, it makes it almost impossible for me to make a love connection. Ya feel me? No one wants to date the crazy chick who talks to herself.”

There was no self-pity in her statement. Not even a little. Her life was what it was. There just hadn’t been a man she’d come across who was strong enough to handle her otherworldly charms—not so far, anyway. And even if that man never came along, she was good being alone. Well, there was one man in her life who got it. Her brother, Kellen. He didn’t share her gift, but he believed. That she had one person in her life who understood was more than most who shared her gift had.

Besides, letting other people become involved with her had some hazardous risks she’d just as soon not take. So she’d stopped taking them.

“I feel like I should apologize again. I didn’t mean to insult you and your . . . dogs.”

Delaney lifted her head, glaring at her only purebred dog—a black Dachshund with bladder control issues—who was tugging at his festively decorated dungaree wraparound diaper, trying to yank it off.

She nudged him with a gentle elbow, drawing his soft, doe-brown eyes to hers. “You—knock that off. I can’t have you peeing all over the place or Mr. Li will have my head. I did decorate the diaper for you, didn’t I? Do you know how many hours I spent with that stupid BeDazzler, hooking you up so you’d have pretty man-panties? Now quit being so ungrateful. And you”—she pointed behind her head at the voice—“
should
feel like apologizing again. You stiffed me out of eight hundred smackers. I don’t suppose your bank account’s still open on the other side, now is it?”

His silence was palpable, resounding in her head.

She nodded her head, affirming her statement. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

“So you don’t date?”

Delaney lifted herself off the couch, heading toward her small, narrow kitchen, six dogs at her heels. She popped her refrigerator door open, rooting around for some leftover Hamburger Helper. “Not since, like, 2005 or so, I think it was. Ira Warstein will never be the same, and I can’t say as I blame him. I decided, right then and there, after he’d been cracked in the head by his mother’s platter of carefully prepared gefilte fish, that not only did it look outwardly like I had the crazy goin’ on, but people were now getting hurt because of me. So end of. I’m just too hard to explain. Conversations like the one we’re having, where only I can hear you, harder still.”

“You hit him in the head with a platter of fish?”

She waved a hand at the voice, now in the center of her kitchen. “Don’t be ridiculous. I would never hit someone with anything, let alone a platter of fish. Our date was rudely interrupted by a very angry ghost who wanted my immediate attention and just couldn’t hang on to his britches while I made polite excuses to leave.” Delaney turned to stare at the empty spot in the room she’d pinpointed his voice in. “Sound vaguely familiar?”

His tone was sheepish this time. “I’m apologizing again, right?”

She shook her head in a firm no, brushing long strands of her auburn hair from her eyes. “No. You’re going away. I already accepted your apology. We’re golden.”

“But I can’t go away.”

“Yes, yes, you can. It works like this. You disappear until, like, tomorrow, while I feed the dogs, eat my crappy leftovers, and watch
Ghost Whisperer
.” She looked down at the eager puppies who’d gathered at her feet the moment she’d opened the fridge door. “We always watch
Ghost Whisperer
, don’t we, babies?” she cooed in a tone reserved just for her animals.

His voice, if not his physical presence, remained firmly rooted to the center of her kitchen. “No, no, I can’t go away.”

For the love of some meaningful, much-needed quiet time, he’d damned well better. “Hookay. I think we need the big guns here. Are you going to make me sic Darwin on you?”

“Who’s Darwin?”

“My dead Rottweiler—he’s still with me in spirit, though I can’t figure why he won’t hit the endless Milk-Bone highway in the sky. We’re a work in progress even in death. But that does mean he’s with you, too—wherever you are. And I hear his bark is definitely as bad as his bite. So scurry along now before I give him a ghostly ring-a-ling, and he eats your rude, interfering, money-stealing ass.”

Five and a half pairs of eyes looked woefully in the direction of the voice, then back at her. Dinner—they wanted some. Delaney sank to her haunches on the floor, digging in her cabinets to find the last of the dry dog food she had.

“So what are the dogs’ names?”

Delaney sighed and lifted the half-empty dog food bag to the counter, ignoring the fact that this entity was at least trying to sound interested in her life—the one he’d interrupted so pompously. “Would you get the hell outta my head? You’ve long surpassed eager, and you’re well on your way to bordering obnoxious. I really, really need to lay down some ground rules for you bunch. And it’s not that I don’t understand that most times you can’t control how you pop in and out of my life, but you don’t seem to have that particular problem. In fact, you don’t seem disoriented at all. And as much as I’d like to delve right into that ghostly oddity of yours, I’m all out of patience. Now, for the love of Casper, go do ghostlike things and come back tomorrow.”

“I was just curious.”

“I know, and you know what they say about curious.”

“I’m already dead. That theory no longer applies,” he offered with another chuckle—one that wasn’t terribly unpleasant.

She threw her head back, exhaling with a ragged, put-upon sigh. “Dog.”

“What?”

“Dog. The dogs’ names are Dog.”

“All of them?”

Delaney nodded. “Uh-huh. And stop moving around so much, you’ll scare dog number three in my adoption lineup.” She pointed to her Lhasa Apso-Beagle, who was making continual, frantic circles at what Delaney suspected were the feet of her overbearing entity, attempting to nab and capture her tail. “She has anxiety issues—abandonment—food phobias out the wazoo, et cetera. As neurotic as a dieter around a plate of french fries, my baby is. In essence, your unearthly presence is making her crazy, and if you make her crazy, she’ll chew up my carpet. I don’t have the money to pay my rent because of you. Do you want me to have to pay for new carpet, too?”

“Why haven’t you given them all names? You gave Darwin one.”

“Why does that interest you so much?”

“I’m not sure I know.”

Delaney pinched the bridge of her nose—tonight was definitely a night for some chamomile tea and a healthy dose of white willow bark. “Okay, Q and A is almost over. This is your last answer. I named Darwin because at the time, I only had one dog’s name to remember. I don’t know where you come from, or if you come from a family with a lot of siblings, but it’s flippin’ hard to remember names when a bunch of kids are getting into something and you catch them all at once. My mother used to say she wished she’d named my brother and me Bob, and I understand why now. Anyway, it’s harder still to remember the names of six dogs that’re all yapping because some rude ghost’s entry into your life created chaos. Dog is easy to remember. It gets everyone’s attention in an instant, and I didn’t have to come up with anything clever like Rutabaga or Petunia. Besides, who could name a dog that wears a diaper BeDazzled in faux rhinestones? There’s a lot of pressure involved in that. If I go one name too far south, I’d trash his self-esteem. He’s already scarred—I figured I’d leave his dignity intact by not naming him something ludicrous like Fifi. And now”—she glanced at her microwave’s clock—“your time is up and my show’s almost on. Go. Away.”

Blessed silence greeted her.

Score.

Delaney cocked her head but once after she’d finished pouring out six bowls of food, and heard nothing but the sounds of anticipatory, mealtime doggy breathing. She let out a sigh of relief. He’d come back, and when he did, she’d be happy to help. She had to admit, she was curious about his story.

She’d never encountered a ghost who was as oriented on this plane as this one was. She’d only met one other supernatural entity who was as coherent as this one, and that entity, she’d just as soon forget entirely.

Closing her eyes, Delaney trembled while trying to stave off the dark memory that never failed to leave her weak in the knees with a dry mouth full of cotton balls.

Dog number one, a blind, diabetic, partially deaf, fourteen-year-old surmised mixed breed no one could positively identify—but one which her vet said reminded him of a Chinese Crested disaster waiting to happen—scratched impatiently at her leg. She stooped low, letting him smell her hand before she ran her fingers through the tufts of spiky hair along the top of his scalp. “I know, punkin—you’re hungry. Tell me something—do you find it as funny as I do that you can’t hear me yell shut up, but you can totally hear me open a bag of dog food from a million miles away? Uncanny, no?”

He burrowed his head in her hand and her heart clenched. They’d been together a long time—almost as long as she and Darwin before he’d left this plane.

Setting down their food bowls, Delaney rinsed their water cooler out and threw the Tupperware filled with leftover Hamburger Helper in the microwave. Checking the time, she encouraged them to chow down. She’d already missed almost ten minutes of
Ghost Whisperer
. “Dogs! Hurry up, would ya? Melinda and her über hawt hubby await.”

Running a tired hand over her scalp, she massaged the back of her neck, heading back to her bedroom, situated just off the kitchen. The only saving grace for today was the anticipation that filled her at the thought of climbing into her king-sized bed. Her one and only luxury—a luxury she’d splurged on at a high-end thrift store so her puppies could sleep with her. Which some might call obsessive, but whatevs.

She was in her tiny adjoining bathroom, pulling on her nightgown, when she heard the sound of voices, familiar as old friends, drift to her ears.

“You know, I’ve been watching this
Ghost Whisperer
, and I have to tell you, you’re nothing like Melinda Gordon. You’re kinda cranky. She seems much less irritable than you.”

How lovely. He was baaaaack.

Very
Poltergeist.

“Yeah?” she called out, digging in her hamper for her bathrobe. “Well, that’s because her paycheck’s a whole lot bigger than mine. Not to mention, she has cuter clothes.”

“I’d definitely have to agree that what she puts in those clothes is very cute.”

How quaint—even from the grave, men lusted for Jennifer Love Hewitt. She continued rooting in her hamper, hoping against hope he’d go the frig away. Where the hell was her bathrobe? How could she watch
Ghost Whisperer
without her crappy, moth-eaten, comfortable bathrobe? It was what Friday nights were all about at Chez Markham. Her pink bathrobe, a bowl of leftover Thursday night Hamburger Helper, her puppies sprawled out on her bed, and
Ghost Whisperer
. In that particular order, damn it.